Marshall
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marshallthehusky.bsky.social
Marshall
@marshallthehusky.bsky.social
160 followers 59 following 39 posts
Guardian of Northen lights 🌌 | Pack leader 🐕 | Protector🛡 | Loyal 💙 | Husky spirit 🐺

In love with all kind of dogs and wolves ζ ❤️🐺🐶
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marshallthehusky.bsky.social
You haven't??? How's that possible? 😆
November 21, 2025 at 2:58 PM
Reposted by Marshall
aidahusko.bsky.social
If you feel like to belong to a new community where we accept each other then don't hesitate and let's join to our group on TG!
Dm for link~
October 25, 2025 at 8:23 AM
marshallthehusky.bsky.social
Awwww:3
I appreciate it buddy 🥰
I am super happy that you think this about me it really warms my heart :3
I think the same thing about you, thank you for everything so far~
October 27, 2025 at 3:34 PM
marshallthehusky.bsky.social
Maybe x)
October 27, 2025 at 3:31 PM
marshallthehusky.bsky.social
Count me in :3
October 25, 2025 at 12:42 PM
marshallthehusky.bsky.social
huff yes! You nailed it!
July 22, 2025 at 11:24 AM
Reposted by Marshall
shimi.bsky.social
“What the Creek Said”
A watercolor illustration titled “What the Creek Said” by Shimi & Critter. On the left, a small brown wren perches among green leaves. A pale blue creek winds down the center of the image, flanked by lush greenery. On the lower right, a golden-brown wolf pup with white markings bends to drink from the stream, eyes closed peacefully. The background is soft earth tones, blending into warm golds and greens. Overlaying the artwork is a poem in typewriter-style font. The poem is about a creature walking on four feet, communing with the forest, and feeling known and held by the land and sky. It evokes themes of Therian identity, creaturely grace, and spiritual belonging. The final lines express a longing not for death but for transformation—“to become, in this exalted creaturely state… to be held at last.” What the Creek Said Today I walked on four feet, although two were enough. The forest did not mind. The creek was speaking —in its clear tongue, …and I bent down, cupped it in paw-hands, drank what it offered— not to survive, but remember. I thought I heard my name, not as the world calls me— not by word nor brazen human sound— but in the gentle shape of air, before shame, before names, in that hush between a leaf …and its falling. I howled, just once and low, not for sorrow, but to join the chorus already going on without me. A wren answered. The cedar leaned closer. And I, made of fur and salt …and breath, I was fed, seen, and known. Somewhere—still far— a lamb watches the gate. But here, right here, the Shepherd’s hand is moss …and lichen and sky. I lay down beside the stone. I do not wish to die. Not now, no… not just yet —But simply to wait. Not to rise, nor to witness, but to become, in this exalted creaturely state. To be held …at last.
July 13, 2025 at 8:16 PM
marshallthehusky.bsky.social
Cookieeeeeee
July 22, 2025 at 11:22 AM